


Winter Song

by orangeflavor



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-20 10:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22015750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeflavor/pseuds/orangeflavor
Summary: "Jon's hands find the summer of her body easily enough."  -  Jon and Sansa - in howls and gales.  100 Word Drabble Series.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 92
Kudos: 181





	1. Stealing

**Author's Note:**

> Varying genres. Some drabbles will fit in canon, others will not. Often updated in batches.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Winter Song

Chapter One: Stealing

* * *

"Were I a wildling, I'd have stolen you moons ago," Jon pants at her mouth, trailing a finger languidly over her bottom lip. "Perhaps I may yet."

Sansa hums a soft laugh, and he glances up at the sound, eyes catching along hers with a startling fondness that takes him and never truly lets go.

"You can't steal what's already been given," she teases.

Jon blinks at the admission – wholly and recklessly hers.

He stares at the parted seam of her lips – breath halted – before his mouth overtakes hers.

In the end, he's not the one who does the stealing.


	2. Home

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Winter Song

Chapter Two: Home

* * *

When the banners of flayed men have burnt to cinders, and the smell of blood has dissipated, and the snow has started its slow, gentle descent across the castle –

Sansa finds herself in the crypts.

"I'm home, Father," she says to the silent statue before her.

No one answers.

But even as she lowers herself to the dirt, squatting in her skirts, arms hooked around her knees in meager comfort, she recognizes the footsteps at her back.

She recognizes what home is meant to sound like.

"Sansa."

Her name in his mouth is the embrace she's spent years longing for.


	3. You

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Winter Song

Chapter Three: You

* * *

"You think I want to leave?" he bellows, stalking toward her.

Sansa stands her ground, face fierce in its defiance, tongue coiled in readiness.

Dragonstone is a fool's errand, a brittle hope – a death sentence. He goes even still.

Jon advances on her, until she sees the whites of his eyes, the tremble to his snarl.

"You think I want to leave my home and my people and _you_ – Sansa – " He chokes on the name, halting, voice breaking. "You," he says, breath winded from him.

_You._

Like a gasp of air.

Like a secret he never meant to tell.


	4. Seasons

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Winter Song

Chapter Four: Seasons

* * *

The cold is not unfamiliar, and Stark skin is impervious, coarse, winter-hewn. A mettle of ice and endurance, a Northern frost to eclipse the delicacy of spring.

But Sansa is warm.

Jon's hands find the summer of her body easily enough, cradling her soft bloom in his calloused palms, weathering the intensity of her heat against his bones – drinking the light off her lips and the crisp air off her tongue.

Winter has come, sure enough, but summer looms ever brighter in its wake.

Jon buries his face in the curve of Sansa's neck, weathering the seasons by her touch.


	5. Pretty

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Winter Song

Chapter Five: Pretty

* * *

"Your hair's longer." It's oddly the first change he notices upon her arrival at Castle Black.

Sansa fingers the end of her braid, frowning. "It's hardly presentable now, full of thistles and – "

"No, it's – it's – "

_Pretty_ , he never says, mouth closing over the syllables in quiet resignation.

He remembers, suddenly, that bastards should never remark on a lady's beauty.

Sansa stops her climb up the stairs to look at him. When he doesn't finish, she offers a courteous smile, and continues on.

His hand wavers mid-air, fingers reaching for the ends of her trailing hair, closing on nothing.


	6. Almost

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Winter Song

Chapter Six: Almost

* * *

"Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?"

Jon grinds his teeth. "Sansa." A warning.

She scoffs, eyes already wet. "Don't." She takes a step back.

Jon follows, grasping at her arms, stepping into her, his warm breath already fanning her cheeks. "Sansa, I…" He stops, swallows, tries again.

When his eyes flick to her lips, and his hands slide deftly down her arms, and his mouth opens on the mute caress of her name –

"Don't," she chokes out, already drowning.

Jon stares at her, desolate.

He almost tells her.

She almost lets him.


	7. Bout of Chaos

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Winter Song

Chapter Seven: Bout of Chaos

* * *

"Am I doing this right?"

Sansa glances up at the bronze mirror lining her vanity, catching sight of Jon's focused features behind her, his hands tangled in her hair, the haphazard braid at his fingertips held out for her inspection.

She smiles at him though the bleary reflection. "Over, not under."

Jon frowns down at his handiwork. "Ah," he says dumbly, brow furrowed.

Sansa smothers her laugh behind a delicate hand at the bout of chaos in her hair. Jon meets her gaze through the mirror, a sheepish look crossing his features.

She wears the braid for three days, untouched.


	8. Fit of Love

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Winter Song

Chapter Eight: Fit of Love

* * *

Sansa knows the fit of love.

It fits in the space between his lips and the curve of his calloused palms and the shadow of his hooded gaze.

It fits in the air between his words when he moans his affection across her skin, and it fits in the crinkles at his eyes when he smiles at her over the rim of his ale, and it fits along the skin between his scarred knuckles when he brushes them achingly over her cheek, waking her from her worst nightmares.

It fits in _him_ – a piece of her finally settled into place.


	9. Mistake

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Winter Song

Chapter Nine: Mistake

* * *

"Jon, we shouldn't – "

Jon presses his sister back against the wall, mouthing at her throat, the wet press of his tongue breaking her protest off into a moan. He spreads a hungry palm over the white expanse of her thigh beneath bunched skirts, rocking into her.

Sansa grips the back of his neck, arching against him, words a breathless hiss, "This is a mistake."

Jon pulls his head back just enough to watch her, tongue wetting his lips, thumb dragging across her pulse point with promise.

He stares darkly at her, panting. "Then why do we keep making it?"


	10. Dance

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Winter Song

Chapter Ten: Dance

* * *

"Your hand – here," she instructs when they are children, placing his palm at her shoulder, leading him into the dance. He fumbles after her steps, but Jon has always been a quick learner. "Like that," she praises, smile wide.

"Your hand – here," she says now, breathy and low, fine-boned fingers curled around his wrist when she drags his hand between her thighs.

She keens as his fingers curl up into her, no instruction needed, her gasp wet against his bruising mouth. "Like that," she praises, biting off her whimper.

It is a dance they began many years ago, after all.


	11. Doves and Ravens

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Winter Song

Chapter Eleven: Doves and Ravens

* * *

Sansa glimpses the shadow of the retreating raven as it departs from the rookery. The unraveled scroll falls from her fingertips, Jon's hand pressing to the small of her back.

"Sansa," he says, voice like the flutter of wings.

"Cersei's dead," she whispers, throat closing up.

_Little dove,_ her voice taunts, even still.

"She's dead," she says again, a delirious laugh trailing at the ends of her words.

Jon's hand folds more surely around her form.

The raven has disappeared along the snow-laden horizon.

Sansa cries – never knowing what for.

Doves and ravens have always been weather-beaten things, after all.


	12. The Killing One

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Winter Song

Chapter Twelve: The Killing One

* * *

"And this one?" Sansa asks, fingertips brushing over the gash forever marring his chest, just over his heart.

Jon's eyes sting, his throat constricting. "Sansa - "

"And this one?" she presses, undaunted.

Jon swallows, eyes boring into hers. "The killing one."

Sansa watches him in shadow, hair a copper curtain, before dipping down to his chest, lips braced to his scar.

Jon sucks a breath through his teeth.

Sansa's fingers wind around his ribcage. "I'm glad he hung for it," she whispers into his skin.

Jon fists a hand in her hair and drags her scar-kissed mouth to his.


	13. Warm Enough

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Winter Song

Chapter Thirteen: Warm Enough

* * *

Sansa frowns at him.

Jon raises a brow, a chuckle lighting his lips. "What?"

Her eyes narrow along his cloak, black and ragged and telling of years not worth recollecting. She fingers the edge of the fur along his shoulders in distaste. "You need a new cloak."

A laugh eases from his throat. "And you're going to make me one, are you? In _this_ winter?" he says teasingly.

Sansa purses her lips, watching him.

His fingers curl around her elbow reassuringly. "I'm warm enough, Sansa."

The imprint of his touch lingers long after his hand has already retreated.

Warm enough.


	14. Just a While

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Winter Song

Chapter Fourteen: Just a While

* * *

"Come, Jon." she urges, rousing her brother from his ale-induced sleep before the fire. "To bed."

He grins up at her, eyes hazy with sleep and drink, stumbling to a stand with her guidance.

She cups her hands around his elbows, steadying him, and he leans into her, nose buried in her hair. His hot breath warms her temple. His fingers fumble for her waist.

"Jon," she admonishes, her breath hitching.

"Just a while, Sansa," he murmurs, hands folding around her waist with an intimacy decidedly unbrotherly. "Just a while longer."

She lets him hold her, drunk on something else.


	15. Grey

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Winter Song

Chapter Fifteen: Grey

* * *

When he comes back to himself – when the snow settles soft along their embrace, and her body has made a firm imprint against his, and their steady swaying has eased into a gentle lull – when he finally pulls from her in the courtyard of Castle Black, takes her face in his hands, meets her tear-laced eyes with his own disbelieving ones –

"Grey," he chokes out.

Sansa reaches for his wrists, holding him to her, blinking her confusion.

Jon presses his mouth to her temple, sighing. "You came to me in grey," he laughs darkly, eyes sliding shut on the exhale.


	16. Don't

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Winter Song

Chapter Sixteen: Don't

* * *

"I missed you," he breathes, stepping toward her.

She reaches a hand up to stop him, fine-boned and elegant, fingers splayed out in a motion of command, a halting.

Jon stills, hands held mid-reach for her.

"Don't," she seethes, winter falling from her bones with the word. She shakes, watching him in silence.

Somewhere past her door, the dragon queen makes herself at home in a den of wolves.

"Sansa – " It's a desolate quake – a yearning.

"Don't," she tries again, faltering – failing.

He steps forward once more, and she is buckling, instantly.

" _Don't_ ," she says.

_Please,_ she doesn't say.


	17. Like Father's

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Winter Song

Chapter Seventeen: Like Father's

* * *

"It's getting long," Sansa muses, fork stilling over her meal.

Jon raises a brow her way, mouth full.

"Your hair," she says, a hand going out to finger the edges thoughtfully. "Like Father's." It's a croak that leaves her, throat constricting with the sound.

Jon blinks at her, mouth stilling mid-chew.

Sansa retracts her hand swiftly. "You should cut it," she says, clearing her throat. She returns to her meal without issue.

Sometime in the night, Sansa winds her fingers through his hair as he buries his head between her thighs.

Not like Father's at all, she realizes – breathless, arching.


	18. For a Time

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Winter Song

Chapter Eighteen: For a Time

* * *

The sun breaks over their drowsy forms in a trickle of light, warming their entangled limbs, drawing them from beneath the sheets with outstretched limbs and mumbled affections and earnest, greedy fingers stealing each other back from the promise of day.

"Stay," he whispers into her shoulder, grip tight over her waist.

Dawn etches ever longer over their forms.

Sansa sighs, a laugh bubbling up her throat, her hand finding his at her waist. "For a time," she says, mouth curling.

Jon nuzzles closer, nipping at her throat.

Sansa's laugh overtakes her.

_For a time_ , she says.

_Always_ , she means.


	19. Crypts

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Winter Song

Chapter Nineteen: Crypts

* * *

He finds her in the crypts, standing before their father's stone visage, a single candle lit, hands clasped before her.

"Sansa," he says, the breath already winded from him.

She turns.

And every half-formed thought, every almost-confession comes frothing to the surface.

"Sansa, I – " But the words splinter in his throat, breaking at the crest.

She wears a sad smile.

The army of the dead treads ever closer. They make their stand this night.

"I know," she croaks, eyes already wet.

But she doesn't - she _couldn't_.

Jon swallows back the wreckage.

Dawn has always been a faraway thing.


	20. Crypts, the B Side

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Winter Song

Chapter Twenty: Crypts, the B Side

* * *

He finds her in the crypts, stumbling out from behind the toppled statue of their father, a hand at her mouth, the other iron-tight over the hilt of her dragonglass dagger.

"Sansa!" He lunges for her, vaulting over debris and bodies, half-blind from the blood and ash.

She coughs his name, reaching for him, and he crashes into her in a rush of blinding relief, of winding arms and colliding chests, of hands tangled in hair and tremulous, shaking exhales and mouths pressed fervently together – of gasping, of crying, of laughing.

He finds her with the dawn.

He finds her.


End file.
